


Compromise

by Ozymanreis



Series: Sheriarty Week [4]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftercare, Asexual Character, Asexual Sherlock, BDSM, Consensual Kink, Consensual Sex, Dom Sherlock, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, Fluff and Smut, Implied Sexual Content, Light Bondage, Light Dom/sub, M/M, Restraints, Safe Sane and Consensual, Sex Toys, Sub Jim
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-25
Updated: 2015-06-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 04:42:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208334
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ozymanreis/pseuds/Ozymanreis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Despite one or two early, wonderful indulgences in their relationship, Sherlock quickly realized that “sex,” at least in the traditional sense, wasn’t for him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Compromise

**Author's Note:**

> ALL OF THE CONSENT TAGS. ALL OF THEM.
> 
> Prompt for today was Smut! But I'm not much of a straight-up smut writer if plot isn't involved, or I can't see a need that isn't being filled. So I opted for some BDSM, with a focus on sweet, loving aftercare. Completely consensual, most is implied.

Sherlock Holmes was not a sexual being. However, he was a very _sensual_ being, even if he wasn’t entirely aware at first. In retrospect, it seemed obvious. All of his senses were constantly on hyperdrive — it’s what made him such a good detective. 

When he met Jim Moriarty, he was forced to confront limits. Every meaning of the word. Jim’s lust was important to him. To the criminal, it was a way of expressing desire, of wanting to share experiences, _feeling_. 

Despite one or two early, _wonderful_ indulgences in their relationship, Sherlock quickly realized that “sex,” at least in the traditional sense, wasn’t for him. 

Still. He’d never been above happy compromise. 

Sherlock had been reading a historical novel. Historically _inaccurate,_ but still worth adding to his repertoire, even if he had to pen in a few corrections. He kept an eye on his watch, and his ears open for any sounds of distress. Every hour or so, he’d get up and crawl on the bed. 

“Did you know that medieval knights’ armor wasn’t as heavy as most believe?” Sherlock’s soothing tones cut through the crisp silence of the night, the white noise of a vibrating toy muffled by Jim’s body. His fingers traced lightly over the smaller man’s long expanse of exposed, snowy flesh. 

Every now and then Sherlock carded over a raised, red welt, peppered over his beloved’s skin, enticing a small intake of breath. 

“Hm?” The criminal hummed, so blissed and exhausted he can’t open his eyes, toy sapping all of his attentions as he tried to balance on that precarious ledge between pleasure and pain. Couldn’t move his limbs, even if he wanted to. And he _could_ , the leather cuffs weren’t taught against the bed — just enough so that he could stretch when the opportunity was offered to him. 

“It was heavy, yes, being wrapped in plates of metal does movement little favors, but they were still relatively agile. Some even learned parlor tricks, such as walking on their hands. To impress the King and whoever else was funding them.” 

“Mhm…” 

“Even used to entertain each other during slow times.”

The bound man barely nodded, a smirk just as plastered on his face as his sweat-drenched hair.

Sherlock sighed, hand sliding up under his partner’s chin, “Dearest Jim, I’m going to need more frontal lobe engagement than that.”

“Sherlock…” He murmured, trying to muster up some energy, or any amount of wit from his sex-fried brain, “I’m tired, the toy…” He trailed off, squirming against the sheets, gasping as the flared base caught on the mattress, adjusting the angle inside him. 

“Tis rather the point, isn’t it?” Sherlock grinned, quickly checking the area around the cuffs on Jim’s wrists for chaffing, “Keeping you at my disposal like this…” He reached down, flipping the power off. 

Jim exhaled violently, eyes flying open at the lack of stimulation. “Poor thing…” Sherlock pecked at his jaw, “Easier to think now?”

Jim pouted, pulling some at the restraints.

“Darling. It’s been hours. You can take a few minutes of respite.”

Scowling, Jim gave a begrudging nod. 

Sherlock kissed his temple, untying the wrist cuffs, unclasping the ones at his feet, then slowly easing the toy out, inch-by-inch. He reached onto the nightstand for a full glass he’d placed there earlier, “Would you like some water?”

Jim stretched, shivering from the sudden emptiness, then curled up protectively, shaking his head, “Mm-mm…” Felt too vulnerable to let anything else _in_ right now. 

“Too bad. You haven’t drank anything in six hours, and you’ve been sweating up a storm.” Sherlock scolded, free hand dipping under Jim’s head, propping it up and setting the rim of the cup on his bottom lip.

Jim hissed, but took a sip. Then another. Then found himself gulping down the entire glass. 

“Easy.” Sherlock warned, setting the empty cup aside, laying Jim back down and cuddling against his back, arms tightly wrapped around him. Cessation of subspace should never be rushed, and must be carefully monitored. Sherlock made sure of that, gripping Jim’s wrist to check his pulse. _Within acceptable range_. 

The sex wasn’t _conventional_ , but it was certainly fulfilling for both parties. The structure appealed to Sherlock, as well as taking control of his lack of sexuality. Jim… well, under a watchful, caring eye, could push his limits. Cast his mind into a place of hyper-stimulation, so that he didn’t have a worry in the world outside the room. 

Because really, after coming _once_ over-stimulation was nearly painful. After six or seven? He could barely remember what day it was. It wasn’t often they could do this, but when they did, they always reserved a day or two, devoted just to pleasure and the subsequent recovery. 

Jim’s eyelids were heavy, beginning to doze. Sherlock felt his body relax, temperature slowly falling back to normal. He reached down, pulling a comforter over both of them.

“Wait…” Jim murmured, turning minutely, the pleasureful numbness wearing off, soreness setting in. He didn’t like that part. “Can… can we start up again?”

Sherlock knew this ploy, and wasn’t always opposed to granting his wish. But one condition _always_ had to be met, “Do you remember your safe word?”

Jim swallowed nervously, “Uh-huh.” He answered, already knowing it wouldn’t be anywhere near good enough for Sherlock’s careful nature. 

“What is it?”

The criminal didn’t answer. _Couldn’t_. 

“Go to sleep.” Sherlock whispered, rubbing a hand over Jim’s arm, “When you wake up, if you still want to, and _remember_ , then we can.”

But before the detective had even finished the sentence, his beloved was out like a light. Sherlock kissed the nape of his neck, shutting his eyes to join him. 


End file.
